Memories will stay.

Never ever forget

If my head were ever hooked up to some machine that could access my strongest memory, the head scientists would be shocked.  “Well, look there, Dr. Fred!  Do you see that?! Who woulda thought?”  I can hear them saying that.

Most people would call up shared memories such as the birth of their children or maybe seeing a  parent after a long time.  No, my memories would be more plebeian and consequently more peculiar.

I would access the memory of an autumn day in my sophomore year at high school.  The bus had dropped me off in front of our farm house, and I walked beneath towering maple trees shedding their leaves.  My hand reached for the door, and I stepped into the warm kitchen, where my mother was washing dishes.  

 On the table, cooling from the oven was the entire head of a full grown hog.

How to make hog head cheese

Eyes, ears, snout, bristled hair, and pink thick skin—all the distinctive features of a hog’s head that I had seen thousands of times, but those hogs had been alive.  Those 

hogs had been rooting in the mud and muck and eating from the feeder. 

Bonding time
You have no idea how awful this smells.

The remains of long dead hog was there and the head had just been roasted in the oven.  The rest of the hog was cut into various roasts and chops, wrapped in white butcher paper resting comfortably in the freezer.

In just a few words, Mom sensed my discomfort.  My mother was the ultimate pragmatist, which served her well throughout her life on the farm. 

She pulled out two very large crocks and set them in front of the cooling head.  “Wanta get a snack before you start taking off the meat and skin?” 

I indicated that I wasn’t hungry.  “Well, change your clothes and wash up.  You’re gonna strip the head of meat and put it in this crock.  Put the skin and what-not in this other crock.  Don’t mix them up.” 

She went on to tell me that this meat was for mincemeat pies, the great nummy pies for which she was so famous.  

What?? 

Mom would take this meat, chop it up, mix it with God-knows-what-else-meat-discards and candied fruit, can it in quart jars, and set them in the pantry.  Then we would feast on mincemeat pie at Christmas time. Here is a recipe, but not my mom's:

You too can make this heavenly pie.

Click on the above to access this recipe.

Well done!

Mom even sent a jar to my 7th grade teacher, who waxed eloquently about this hog-filled pie filling.  

I had never known what we were eating and enjoying.

Sooo, when I set to the task by tearing off the ears and then cutting off the snout and ears, Mom said, “Oh, put those here in this jar.  I will pickle those; your father loves that.”  I just about up-chucked. (apparently the hog's trotters had met the same fate.)

 It didn’t get much better as the process when on.  Poke out the eyes.  Tear off the jowl meat.  Strip the muscles from the back of the neck.  On and on.  I do not recall what she said to do with the brain; I was pretty numb by then.

The science part of my own brain appreciated how God put together muscles and ligaments, attaching them to bones.  The fifteen year old farm girl in me was on the verge of vomiting. 

All in all, it stands out as a strong, indelible memory, now nearly 50 years old. What is yours?

P.S.  I haven't eaten mincemeat pie for years.  But, the store-jar versions are meat free, fully vegan, so maybe now?

This is a repost of a repost, first in 2015 and then in 2017. Some bloggers will probably remember it. But I wanted others to enjoy the experience. Just writing and making some changes brings back all those memories with its smells, textures, and images.

I hope this can change your life. It sure did mine.